Author: Lark T

She walks silently in a twisted forest
The sound confuse
And leaves crunch right before they are stepped on
But at the same time, there are no sounds
Just illusions in her mind
Things she does not know
But feel close to her
This is her home
But the farthest place from home too

The end
Okay finally
I can take my break
Wait you’re still here?
Why?
The story is over
Done
Finished
The final bow has been taken
The is nothing beyond the end
It’s over
Nothing to see here
Move on
Go to the next book
You already know this one
There is nothing for you here
I am done
I just need you to leave
Just
Go away
I’ll be here
Alone
At the end of a book
Waiting for the next soul to flip through my pages
And snap the book shut when they are done
So I’ll be here
Waiting for another one

I pose in the grass,
Tense, alert.
My nose twitches.
My ears perk up, turning and twisting,
Listening to the small shifts and shuffles in the trees.
My tail stands stiff.
My muscles are tightened and quivering,
At the sound of leaves rustling.
My hackles rise.
Though I am silent now,
A booming thunder skips around in my throat.
WOOSH!
Something leaps from one tree to another.
I jolt through the underbrush,
My sharp eyes scanning the branches above.
My heart pounds like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
The thunder in my throat bounces out and
EXPLODES
Into ferocious, rumbling
GROWLS
And deep, echoing
BARKS!
I spot the fluffy, russet-colored demon…
SQUIRREL!!

Ships that pass in the night
Cursed to meet only briefly,
Fall in love,
And reach the shore
Separately

Escaping from my boring home
I go outside and explore
There’s nothing but the grass and trees
But listen carefully and you will see

Nature with their own cool band
A fresh new song everyday
A robin calls clear as day
as the eccentric band begins today

The leaves start dancing
The sound of babies rustling
The ecstatic noise of squirrels clicking
Joining the buzzing of a hummingbird

The blinding sun sets slowly
As darkness lazily creeps
The graceful birds leap
Into the marvelous pink sky

Outside my window, the most unusual creature,
Its yellow body galloping, roaring through the streets,
Beating the asphalt, and eating kids.
Once into its mouth, they ventured,
Smiling, frowning, poking out their lips.
But I see no expression now:
Robots, they walk one by one.
I looked into their eyes
Which reflected their parents worried, uncertain smiles.

Where have the yellow creatures been?
Climbing the mountains? Swimming in the seas?
Traversing deserts, looking for black gushing lakes?

Maybe I never saw the creature—
Its brilliant, yellow fur blinding—
The hairy star, the hairy sun
On the street below the clouds to light the darkness and murkiness
Of the day?

What if the creature breathes no longer?
Eats no longer?

Did I see it out the window?
Maybe it was never there.
No. I have not seen it.
It was never there.

On pillows I lay,
Listening to the bouncing drops of rain,
The music governing my day.
I’m trapped
And forced to listen to the busy, rapid voice.
It bellows and directs and it haphazard in its soldierly intonation

Its contents give no inspiration.
This pillows, the feathered thoughts and ideas squashed.
If only I could lift and let them raise into flight,
If only I could lift the blanket that weighs tons,
If only I could climb the mountainous folds of my bed,

Occasionally, I open one of my eyes,
Uneager to look at the clock,
I listen for steps and I know
That there isn’t anybody in the house
Or that there hasn’t been

At first it was as though I had stumbled upon
The life breathing the origins of my own
Atop a splintered fence
Blazing
Eyes of a godly thing

Taking flight as I thought it—
You are my saving grace
Ancestral spirit like paper skin
Fading
Window gaze, my pensive
Death upon the precipice
Now peer all the same

On the third day, forgotten
Nesting away
In the chasm of another
Missed for the embrace
My longing contained
By glass walls, steaming
Suffocation—yet

Come morning, I prayed
And you eluded me again.